Once Upon a December
by WatchThisShit
Summary: When a girl from Sherlock's past unknowingly moves into the flat beneath theirs, questions start flying. Can Sherlock overcome his arrogance to realise that she could help him and John on a case. Or will her past catch up with her, and will he have to solve the murder of his own childhood friend? Rated M for mature themes, if you were following Angel in the Snow, please read
1. Chapter 1

How was I to know that if I had moved into the basement flat of 221 Baker Street, I would go on the most splendid adventures of my life, find my old friend and die all within the same month?

I had just moved back to London this past week, and was lucky enough to find a cheap flat not too far from the inner city. The land lady, a sweet old woman named Mrs. Hudson, had welcomed me when moving day came around and told me that I may meet the other people of 221 in a short while, but they were currently at work. I nodded my thanks and told her that I would be delighted to any time. I was curious about the two that lived above me. Mrs. Hudson had informed me that they worked with the police force, and that I would occasionally, quite possibly hear gunshots. With a smile, I told her that it wouldn't be a problem, and signed the lease agreements.

The Flat was small, and the ceiling was low, but for my 5' 7" height, it was perfect. My futon fit into the corner of my room nicely, and I used the rest of the space for my multitude of books, music and gaming systems. The kitchen, dining room and living room were all rather open to each other, and I loved it. My small couch fit wonderfully and getting the table in there wasn't a hassle. The hardest part was setting up speaks so that I could hear my music all threw the flat. Smiling, I flopped down on to couch. Unpacking had taken a few hours, and I was in no mood to cook. Sliding on some flats and hoodie, I locked the door to my flat and made my way outside. Just as I opened the door, however, I was face to face with two gentlemen. The first was tall. Taller than most men and lean, with cheekbones that were out of this world, his hair was a curl mess that fell perfectly around his face. His glacier blue eyes quickly found my own brown red eyes. He cocked an eyebrow as I stood to the side for the two of them to pass. The second man was shorter, with dark blonde hair and a round face. His eyes were warm, yet battle worn and he stood straight as an arrow. He was the one to smile at me.

"Oh hello, sorry, you must be our new flat mate." He said politely, sticking out a hand to shake mine, which I politely met. "I'm John, John Watson," He gestured to the man beside him "and this is Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock's POV

The door opened before us, and in front of me stood our new flat mate. She was of average height, for an American woman. Her build was strong, with small shoulders and narrow hips and a small waist, but that's where the small's stopped. Her legs were strong, strong from the years of soccer and rugby during her University years. That was evident from the muscle tone in her body, as well as the jaw fracture that set it to the left just slightly that occurred during a match in her third year. Her skin was lighter, but freckles were dotted up her arms, and very lightly across her cheeks. Most likely both parents form Irish decent. Physically matching those commonly called Black Irish; dark hair, dark eyes with skin that wasn't as pale as the traditional peoples.

Her clothes were simple, but flattering. So small budget, but she still cares about her appearance. Her hair was cropped very short, with longer tendrils on the top that were spiking up at ends. Punk hairstyle, yet styled down. Playing a conservative in order to not offend the new neighbors? Roundish face with a small jaw and chin, set off with black full rimmed square glasses. Her eyes weren't terrible, but she most likely suffered from headaches without them. The dark circles under her eyes tell stories of late night's spent staring at the computer she worked at. Her wrists are small, but a brace was wrapped around the left one, most likely early stages of carpal tunnel.

As John stretched out his hand and introduced the two of us, she grasped it firmly and shook it once; strong grip, with no fear of authority. She returned John's smile.

"My names Pan, it's nice to meet you." Her accent was northwestern American, but it was hinted with that of a Londoners. Possibly spent a long time abroad? When her eyes turned back to mine, it was as though they were searching for something. She nodded finally, and left, closing the door behind her.

"What the hell was that?!" I asked aloud, quickly turning and going up the stairs. John followed me closely.

"That was our rather attractive new flat mate, and I'd be really grateful if you didn't offend her." John said, pulling off his jumper and setting it nicely on the kitchen table. I ignored him, I wasn't talking about her physical being, I meant her searching. Why was she looking at him as if she were trying to remember something? Sitting down in my chair, I concentrated on her face and her voice. Why did it feel like I should remember her?

**To those who were reading Angel in the Snow! I'm sorry I took it down, but I just wan't satisfied with the writing structure and story line at the moment! Don't worry, Asha should be back later in the summer, but for now, Enjoy the adventures of Sherlock and Pan; my newest fic and one that will be updated regularly. **

**To those reading my older stories, im sorry that i havent updated them, but i have sadly lost my muse for both of them :(**


	2. Chapter 2

Pans POV

As I returned to my new home, arms ladled with enough Chinese food to keep me fed for a week, thoughts of the dark haired figure upstairs-Sherlock Holmes-drifted threw my mind. A blush crept across my cheeks as I opened the door and finally set the food down on the table. There was no denying it, I told myself as I put a Lindsey Sterling CD into my stereo. He was attractive, but he seemed distant. And even odder… he seemed familiar. As the sounds of a violin filled the air in my apartment, I pulled out my laptop and sunk into my couch. With a small container of sweet and sour chicken, I set to work on finishing my latest commission for Lumiere Studios. The animations were coming along beautifully, and the inspiration flowing from my surround sound speakers.

But after hours of working, and eventually finishing the animations, I still couldn't shake the thought for my mind that Sherlock was familiar. My carpel tunnel throbbing, I set down my computer and decided to try and figure out why my new neighbor seemed familiar. Flipping through old yearbooks, I started with University, flipping, flipping, and flipping, threw years of photos and memories. But in not one, did a Sherlock Holmes show up. Sighing, I threw the final yearbook across the floor, making it hit the wall with a hard bang. Rolling my eyes, I decided to give up for the night, slowly making my way to the kitchen. It was now far past 1 am, nearly 2 as I reached up and unlocked the cabinet that stored my sanity. Prescriptions for insomnia, paranoia, depression… basically anything anybody could need. They kept the edge off; they kept me functioning, almost like a normal happy human being.

I could hear the rain, closing my eyes and relaxing into my futon. The music was still playing, but it was softer now, like a lullaby. As my eyes closed, the chronic panic in my chest leaving for the night, my mind drifted. It drifted off to a place that was peaceful and quiet, and thoughts of tall, curly haired man sat waiting in a garden, playing his violin just for me… just like he used to…

Sherlock's POV

It was approaching 2 am when a thud came from the basement apartment. Raising an eyebrow, I listened for any more telling noises; the quiet run of the tap as she got herself something to drink, and then finally settling down for the rest of the night. He had been up for these past long hours, searching through his mind palace. This woman seemed much too familiar for it to be just a coincidence. Someone he had just seen on the streets, no she was more than that. Pan was more than that. Some time in my life, I had seen-_I had known _- the girl in the basement flat. But I just couldn't remember where… Where could she possibly be from, but I couldn't remember? My eyes flew open; she had to be from my past, but how far back? Quickly, years of school photos flashed threw his mind. I was reaching further and further, until I was in primary school…

"Ah ha!" I yelled, jumping up. Yes yes yes, it was her! It had to be her, that was the only possibility… and tomorrow, he would confront her about it!

**Hello! If you've enjoyed these past two chapters, please review! Reviewing keeps me inspired to write and I absolutely love hearing from my readers! The next chapter will be longer, and much more interesting, don't worry! As a note, the POV will switch from "I" and "My" to "He/Her" and "His/Hers"**

**Thank you for reading so far and I hope you enjoy what I have coming for you next ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

Pan slowly pulled her head out of her dreams and awoke to the soft patter of rain. Her arms and back were aching from the position she had slept in all through the night. The crick in her neck would there for the next few days, she could already feel it. Sighing, she made her way to the kitchen for her morning doses and a cup of coffee. Relaxing, she inhaled the sweet air and mentally made a note to pick up a few candles on her way home today from work. As she went threw her morning routines, she didn't hear a sound from her upstairs neighbour's. Then again, it was 5 am, it would be a little odd to hear them this early.

In the bathroom, she stared in the mirror for an ungodly amount of time. Pan was mapping out every line, crease and dark circle in her face. Deciding make up was a mandatory, she quickly covered up the signs of weariness from her face, plastering on a fake smile to finish it off. Nothing would take me down a notch today. This was a new place, a new life, away from everything back in the states… away from him…..

Slipping on a pair of dark wash jeans and a light leather jacket, she shouldered her computer bag, grabbed her helmet and made her way to the door. Just as she was about to leave, she heard a voice from behind her.

"Going out so early, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked her, wrapping her nightgown around her. Pan gave her a small nod and a smile.

"Yeah, if I get to work earlier, it means I can do a bit of shopping while it isn't so busy," She explained, "I've never done real well in crowds, so it's easier this way." Mrs. Hudson gave her a nod and wished her a good day with a smile.

The cold London air nipped at her face as she pulled on her helmet and started up her motorcycle and pulled out into traffic. The Morning air was brilliant and it soothed her lungs, clearing her head as she bobbed and weaved through morning traffic. The lights were a blur as Pan raced forward. She wasn't going to the studios, instead she was meeting the director at a café, and it seemed much more convenient and not nearly as stressful.

After about an hour and half long breakfast, the final arrangements were made and she was insured that her paycheck would be in the mail. With a brief handshake, Pan made her way towards the smaller shops that were sprinkled all throughout London. The day passed by as she found what she was looking for-Vanilla and brown sugar candles- and decided to return home. On her way, she passed a crime scene that had been taped off. Paying little to no attention, she zoomed off in the direction of home. Baker street wasn't too far off now, and she becoming anxious to get back. The nagging sensation in her chest was bothering her, and she couldn't figure out why. Shaking it off, she pulled up to the sidewalk and quickly shut off her bike. Grabbing her parcels from the saddlebags, she quietly made her way into the flat. But as she got through the first door and was headed to the basement, she saw that her door was already opened.

A white hot sinking feeling fell into Pans stomach when she saw the door to her flat swinging open. Dropping the packages, she leapt down the stairs, not even bothering to try and walk down them. She landed with a thud on her feet, and she sprinted into the flat. It was destroyed. The couch was ripped open, the thin amount of stuffing thrown around the room with the torn apart books. In the kitchen all the glassware was broken. Pan let out a scream as she saw her medication cabinet. Every single prescription she had was gone, the cabinet door ripped off of the wall. Panicking now, she made her way to the bedroom, and it too was a mess. Books everywhere, consoles smashed, and the sheets thrown off. Slinking to the bathroom, she covered her mouth as tears brimmed in her eyes. The mirror was cracked, but other than that, it was relatively unharmed. But the message that was left did more harm than anything else. It was written in sharpie, delicately and in a completely calm manner.

I'm back

Pan crawled into the living room, and curled into a ball, sobbing and anxious. He wasn't supposed to be able to follow her to London. He was supposed to be locked up… back in Oregon… And now he was loose in London.

Sherlock's POV

John and Sherlock had been called out on a case in the early afternoon hours of the day. Sherlock had been waiting for Pan all morning, but was annoyed when he found out that she had left early in the morning to attend to work. Frustrated, he quietly stocked to the crime scene that wasn't too far from their home. At the scene, Lestrade talked uselessly, speaking of a break in with no signs of forced entry. Nothing was broken, but there was a message left on the mirror.

Hello London

As Sherlock stared at the mirror he quickly deduced that the burglar was around 5' 8". He was lean, and artful, but extremely precise. His actions had reason, every single one did, and he enjoyed causing trouble and havoc; the flamboyant flicks of the marker on the glass showed that. Just as he was starting to concentrate better, Anderson ruined the moment.

"Just seems like an obnoxious kid," He pointed out, checking the mirror for finger prints.

"Well thank you for demonstrating what an idiot would understand, Anderson. But please be quiet, the professionals are trying to work." Sherlock quipped, furrowing his brown and pinching the bridge of his nose. Lestrade was the next person to interrupt him.

"A kids missing, their eldest daughter" John turned around quickly,

"What?! They only just now realised their daughter was missing?" He asked the inspector, who nodded in reply. John sighed in frustration, so this wasn't a burglary, but a kidnapping. _Could we possibly have another serial kidnapper on our hands?_ Sherlock thought to himself, trying to suppress a grin. This was going to be interesting. As Sherlock and John stepped out from the crime scene, headed back to Baker Street, Sherlock noticed that the same motorcycle from last night was there again. This obviously had to be Pan's mode of transportation. It would also explain the sounds out on the street this morning. She must be back than, which meant that she was down in her flat. Sherlock had to know he was right; he had to know that she was who he thought she was. For some reason, the notion that she could be who he thought she was got him excited, and a bit nervous. John stood behind his best friend and watched him frantically get inside the house. They only time he saw Sherlock this excited was when there was a serial killer out and about.

As Sherlock started to go down the stairs to the basement flat of 221 C Baker Street, he noticed that the door was swinging wide open. Suddenly anxious, he skipped down the stairs and rushed threw the open door. The flat was destroyed, items torn apart and ruined, littered all around what he could see of the flat.

"Pan!" He called out; his voice echoing threw the flat. His eyes searched every inch of the living room and dining room, until he saw a small foot poking out from inside of the kitchen. Hurriedly, he found Pan on the laminate floor, shaking and whimpering. Turning her towards him, he couldn't remember how he had ever forgotten her. Sitting her up against the wall, he bent down to try and get her to look him in the eyes. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, she was in shock. He growled in frustration, taking her face in his hands to get her to look up.

"Pansy, you have to look at me and calm down!" Her eyes snapped open, and I was suddenly staring into the brown and red abyss of her eyes. It was shocking at first, the way her eyes completely focused on mine, refusing to let go of my gaze. She took physical control of her own breathing finally, her hands shaking as she reached up and grabbed his forearms, her fingers digging into his jacket. After a few moments of her clutching to him, she regained control of herself. They stood up together, Sherlock supporting some of her weight. Pan pushed herself off of him, and looked around nervously.

"Do you have anything for anxiety?" She asked him, a small smile playing off of her lips. His eyes searched her face, she was worried and frightened, but until he got some Xanax in her, she would be a useless mess.

"Upstairs I do," He nodded, leaving her in the kitchen to go and search the rest of the flat for anything. He found what he was looking for when he entered the bathroom. A note, just like that left in the flat a few streets down. So this was the same person, and Pan knew them. Sherlock entered back into the dining room and the two of them set off up the stairs. Sherlock made sure to close the door tightly, all the while thinking. Just what could she have gotten herself into after all this time?

**Please review! I would love to know what you think and I need some initiative to keep going!**


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